


Playing Chicken

by OpheliaDusk



Category: Persona 5
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 19:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11320116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaDusk/pseuds/OpheliaDusk
Summary: When he clues into the fact that Makoto is stalking him, Akira can't help but turn the tables.





	Playing Chicken

**Author's Note:**

> Another kinkmeme fill! "Where, when Akira finds out Makoto is following him, he gets the idea to turn the tables and starts following her around, holding a book up to his face and pretending he is totally not following her. Makoto very quickly clues into the fact that she is not being a subtle as she thinks she is."
> 
> Writing short little one-shots like this is my favorite way to warm up or get my mind going when I'm having trouble with a longer fic. No promises, but if you have any fun prompts you'd like to see me take a stab at, leave them in the comments! Any pairing or gen is all gucci, there's not anything I hate when it comes to this fandom.

“A Phantom Thief must have exceptional powers of observation!” Morgana had lectured him the other night, perched on his work bench. “You never know when the smallest detail will help you plan the heist of your life!”

Akira quickly learned that this wasn’t a one-off admonishment, but a hint of what was to come. Morgana had begun quizzing him relentlessly over the next few days— what were those two students in the hallway whispering about? How many people in the diner were wearing hats? He’d even popped his head out of Akira’s desk in the middle of algebra to hiss “How many students are on their phones?”

Akira considered. Ann had hers out in her lap, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see a boy in the second row tapping his screen repeatedly, playing some kind of game. He held out two fingers under his desk. 

“Wrong! That ponytailed girl in the back row just giggled. She’s obviously texting her boyfriend!”

Akira shot a look at Morgana, and shrugged. Was he supposed to have eyes in the back of his head, now?

“You need to get on the ball! You’re supposed to be—“

“Kurusu! What are you goggling at in your lap? Put your phone away!” He felt the sharp crack of a piece of chalk on his forehead, and heard the muffled giggles of his classmates. Morgana stared up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“An _expert_ Phantom Thief would have dodged that,” he said smugly. 

 

——

 

The moment Akira left the classroom at the end of the day, he began scanning the hallway in self-defense. The girl from the newspaper club was in her usual spot. Two members of the volleyball team were sharing a bag of potato chips, and Akira half-expected Morgana to ask him how many calories were in one bag. And to his left, Makoto Niijima was standing in the hallway, reading a magazine.

“Quick! What’s she—“

“What’s she reading, I know, I know. You’re getting predictable.” Akira squinted, pushing his glasses up his nose as though the clear glass would be any help at all. A college ranking magazine, probably, he thought uncharitably. As he looked closer, though, he saw the cover featured a color illustration; when Makoto meandered past him in the hallway, nose firmly in the book, he read the title.

“‘Chance’,” he muttered once she was out of earshot. “That’s a shoujo manga magazine.”

“Never underestimate how bringing up a hidden interest can make a target let down their guard!” Morgana lectured, muffled, from his bag.

 _Cute,_ Akira thought.

Morgana’s game-slash-punishment continued on the subway, as he demanded Akira tell him what delivery company a certain uniform belonged to. “He’s a stripper on his way to a party,” Akira deadpanned.

“Hey! Take this serio—“

“Quiet for a minute.” As he stepped off the train, he could have sworn… yes. There she was again. Makoto had exited the other end of the subway car, and was now leaning against the wall nonchalantly, still staring at her comic.

She looked up as he approached, with obviously feigned surprise. “Oh. Hello. Are you going to Shibuya, too? Are you going to meet up with Sakamoto-san and Takamaki-san?”

“You’re awfully concerned about my comings and goings,” Akira replied.

“Oh, I just… I didn’t mean to pry, I was just… making conversation,” Makoto stammered.

Akira bit back a comment about letting her know the next time he planned on committing a crime. “Have a nice day, Miss President,” he said with a bob of his head and a winning grin. 

“She’s onto you,” Morgana hissed from his bag as Akira stepped onto the escalator. “Nix the hideout meeting today, and let the others know to scram!”

“Relax, I’ve got this covered,” said Akira. When he emerged onto street level, he meandered across the plaza, pulling out his phone and ostensibly checking his reflection in the camera app. Angling it over his shoulder, he saw Makoto emerge from the underground at a jog, looking left and right before spotting him and ducking behind a sign.

Bookstore first. He lingered over the weekly manga magazines as he watched Makoto through the window; she had bumped into another girl while staring at her magazine, and was apologizing profusely. He grinned despite himself, and selected the most garish girl’s magazine he could find; when the checkout clerk gave him an odd look, he said nonchalantly, “I like the free stickers.”

He’d explored every inch of Shibuya over the past few weeks, and he put all that knowledge to work for him now, as he ducked down alleys, darted into storefronts, and talked the foreign barker at a bar into letting him hide behind their decorative stone wall. 

“You’re enjoying this too much,” grumbled Morgana.

“Hush.”

He peeked around the wall to see Makoto standing in the middle of the shopping arcade, looking around with bemusement, then ducked back behind it as she came over and asked the barker, in reasonably passable English, if he’d seen a dark-haired boy with glasses come by. He jerked his thumb towards the side street, and she jogged off, intent on her mission.

“You’ve lost her! What are you doing?” Morgana yelped, as Akira leapt up to follow her down the street with a wave to the barker. He held the manga up in front of his face, peeking over the top at Makoto as she walked down the side street briskly, peering into storefronts and sighing. The street curved around and met up with the main shopping arcade again at the movie theater, and she’d almost reached the intersection when Akira saw her shoulders tense.

As she whirled around, he stepped sideways to hide behind a telephone pole, bringing the manga up to obscure his face.

She gaped slightly, then turned red. “Stop following me!” she snapped.

“I’m doing no such thing,” Akira said with a grin. The telephone pole was six inches thick, barely concealing his face, much less his body. 

“That’s—“ She clamped her mouth shut, looking embarrassed. Akira could see her warring with herself, clearly having realized that calling him out on being so obvious would mean calling herself out, as well. He stepped out from behind the pole and ambled towards her; she raised her magazine in front of her face again like a shield, eyes darting around, and Akira had to admire her for her willingness to stand her ground.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you suspected me of something,” he said mildly. 

“I’m just— concerned about all of our students! That’s my job, isn’t it?” 

“You and I both know you think I’m a Phantom Thief.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Is it so ridiculous to think I could steal a heart?” 

Her eyes widened. Akira—no, Joker— reached one hand out and pulled her comic down and away from her face, and before she could react, leaned in swiftly and pressed his lips to hers. 

Morgana yowled from his bag, and was summarily ignored. Makoto’s lip tint tasted slightly like strawberries.

 _Cute_ , Akira thought again.

He expected to be shoved away immediately, and was startled to be the one to have to break the kiss. When he pulled away, he saw that Makoto was frozen in place, red as a lobster, lips slightly parted and hands still hovering in the air despite having dropped her magazine in shock. 

“See you at school, Miss President,” he said with a wink, turning and sauntering down the alley.


End file.
